The Hot One(32)

A dark cloud passes over her eyes. She sits up straighter, shifting away from me. “I remember.”

I hold up my hands like I have nothing to hide. “I’m not being a revisionist historian here. Please know I’m not trying to justify how I ended it. I simply want to clear up the past. When I said I thought I had to split up with you, that was because I didn’t believe I could have both you and the career I wanted.”

“I know that, Tyler,” she says, her tone exasperated. “That was very clear then. You don’t have to remind me.”

Shit. I’m making it worse. I lay my hand on her forearm. Her skin is soft and warm, and this close, I catch a faint scent of her again. She smells fresh, like flowers and springtime. “I’m not trying to pour salt into a wound. And I’m not trying to shift the blame. I’m saying I was an idiot because I believed Professor Blair.”

She frowns in confusion.

Then I tell her the whole story. From the D on the paper, to the way he cleaned his glasses, to his cutthroat advice.

She sneers when I finish. “Honestly, I’m not surprised he was against me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I always thought he was a pompous windbag.”

I laugh. “He kind of was. But he was my advisor and seemed to be looking out for my best interests. I was obsessed with my career at the time, or its potential. It seemed an all or nothing choice to me, and you were the casualty. I’m not saying that was a wise choice. It was just the choice I made. That’s why I ended things the way I did. I didn’t explain it well at the time, and I’m not saying an explanation would have made it better, but I owe you the reason why I was so cold, and I want to give it to you.”

She reaches for her glass, but she doesn’t drink. She runs the pad of her finger along the rim and shoots me a pointed look. “Okay.” Her tone is cool. “You’ve given it.”

“Ouch.”

She shrugs.

But even if she’s giving up on me, I’m not done. “Look,” I say, making my case, keeping my gaze locked with hers, “wrong or right, I did believe any distractions would get in the way of law school.” I tap my chest. “That’s on me. I made that choice. And it was a bad fucking choice. But I did it, and once I decided—stupidly—that I couldn’t have both, I knew I had to go cold turkey on you.”

“Cold turkey is putting it mildly,” she scoffs. “One minute, we meant everything to each other. The next minute, you were gone from my life. Clean break.”

For a moment, I let my head hang. Then I raise my face, meet her eyes once more, and take the wine glass from her hand. I set it on the table, and hold both her hands in mine. The fact that she allows it emboldens me. It’s crazy that I’ve already backed her up to the wall and kissed her like the world was on fire, and yet I still get excited to hold her hand. “I know,” I say, imploring her. “I loved you so fucking much it was the only way I could do it.”

She blinks, then her lips part. “What?” she speaks softly, gently.

I squeeze her hands. “It’s true. It killed me ending things, and I knew I would’ve caved if I saw you at all or kept in touch. That’s why I didn’t call, or email, or anything.” I grip her hands harder. “I wanted to. I fought the urge every day. But if I had talked to you, I would’ve caved.”

She sighs heavily. “I get why you felt you had to do it. I don’t like it, but I do understand. But you need to know how much it hurt. And it’s all fine and good to sit here with you and laugh and have a drink, because I’m a big girl and I’m over it. But that doesn’t change how it felt at the time—like a huge hole in my heart. And not just because of my parents. It hurt when you left me because I loved you, and because we had planned a future together.”

I won’t give her any platitudes about how it hurt me, too. Nor will I try to Psych 101 away her family history. I have to man up and own my choices. The breakup is all on me. “I regret what I did, Delaney. That’s what I want to say. I can’t go back in time and rewrite things, but I want you to know that sitting here with you, talking to you, kissing you—every second is like drinking a big bottle of regret.”

“How does it taste, counselor?” she asks, a small curve in her lips.

“Bitter. It tastes bitter.”

“I know that taste well,” she says, then she sighs deeply. Neither one of us says anything more. I’m not usually good with silence, but perhaps it’s necessary to process what went down.

Well, for a few seconds at least. I’m glad she breaks it when she speaks again. “But I’m curious about something. If you wanted to be Mr. Courtroom Trial Lawyer so badly that you walked away from me, how the heck did you wind up in entertainment law? That’s not really a courtroom-centric field of law.”

I laugh and lean back, glad that the tough part is over for now. “You’re right. Entertainment law is mostly deal and contract focused. And as for the change, it’s a funny story, and a short one.”

She stares at me expectantly. “Waiting.”

I scratch my chin. “I learned pretty quickly what excited me about law. It turns out what I really liked wasn’t the drama of the courtroom. It was the entertainment part.”

She cracks up, tossing her head back. “Oh my God, are you kidding me?”